What new Alcaeus, fancy-blest,

Shall sing the sword, in myrtles drest,

At Wisdom's shrine awhile its flame concealing," (What place so fit to seal a deed renown'd?)

Till she her brightest lightnings round revealing, It leap'd in glory forth, and dealt her prompted wound!

O goddess, in that feeling hour,

When most its sounds would court thy ears,

Let not my shell's misguided pow'rt

E'er draw thy sad, thy mindful tears.

No, Freedom, no, I will not tell

How Rome, before thy weeping face,

With heaviest sound, a giant-statue, fell,
Push'd by a wild and artless race

From off its wide ambitious base,

When Time his northern sons of spoil awoke,
And all the blended work of strength and grace,
With many a rude repeated stroke,

And many a barb'rous yell, to thousand fragments

[merged small][ocr errors]

* Alluding to that beautiful fragment of Alcæus.

Εν Μυρίες κλαδι το ξίφος φορήσω,

Ώσπερ Αρμόδιος και Αρισογείτων,
Φιλίαθ' Αρμόδι επω Τεθνηκας,

Νήσοις δ' εν Μακάρων Σε φασιν ειναι

Ev μυρτα κλαδι το ξίφος φορήσω,

Ώσπερ Αρμόδιος και Αρισογείων,
Οτ' Αθηναίης εν θυσίαις,

Ανδρα Τυραννον ιππαρχον καινείην.

Αει Σφων κλέος εσσείαι κατ'


Φιλίαθ' Αρμόδι, και Αρισογείων.

† Μη μη ταύτα λέγωμες, οι Δάκρυον ήγαγε Δηοι.

Callimach. Ύμιος εις Δήμητρα,


Yet, ev'n where'er the least appear'd, fara ti Th' admiring world thy hand rever'd;

Still 'midst the scatter'd states around,

Some remnants of her strength were found'; 900
They saw, by what escap'd the storm,
How wondrous rose her 'perfect form;
How in the great the labour'd whole,
Each mighty master pour'd his soul!
For sunny Florence,, seat of art,
Beneath her vines preserv'd a part,
Till they, whom Science lov'd to name,
(O who could fear it?), quench'd her flame.
And lo, au humbler relic laid

In jealous Pisa's olive shade! ...
See small Marinot joins the theme,
Tho' least, not last in thy esteem:

Strike, louder strike th' ennobling strings.
To those, whose merchant sons where kings;
To him, who, deck'd with pearly pride,
In Adria weds his green-hair'd bride;
Hail port of glory, wealth, and pleasure,
Ne'er let me change this Lydian measure:
Nor e'er her former pride relate,

To sad Liguria's || bleeding state.

Ah no! more pleas'd thy haunts I seek,
On wild Helvetia's ¶ mountains bleak:
(Where, when the favour'd of thy choice,
The daring archer heard thy voice;
Forth from his eyrie rous'd in dread,
The rav'ning eagle northward fled.)

*The family of the Medici, t The title republic of San Marino.

The Venetians.

The Doge of Venice.

¶ Switzerland.

Or dwell in willow'd meads more near,
With those to whom thy stork is dear:
Those whom the rod of Alva bruis'd,
Whose crown a British queen + refus'd!
The magic works, thou feel'st the strains,
One holjer name alone remains;

The perfect spell shall then avail,
Hail nymph, ador'd by Britain, hail!


Beyond the measure vast of thought,
The works, the wizzard Time has wrought!
The Gaul, 'tis held of antique story,
Saw Britain link'd to his now adverse strand,‡
No sea between, nor cliff sublime and hoary,
He pass'd with unwet feet thro' all our land.
To the blown Baltic then, they say,

The wild waves found another way,

*The Dutch, amongst whom there are very severe penalties for those who are convicted of killing this bird. They are kept tame in almost all their towns, and particularly at the Hague, of the arms of which they make a part. The common people of Holland are said to entertain a superstitious sentiment, that if the whole species of them should become extinct, they should lose their liberties.

+ Queen Elizabeth.

This tradition is mentioned by several of our old historians. Some naturalists too have endeavoured to support the probability of the fact by arguments drawn from the correspondent disposition of the two opposite coasts. I do not remember that any poetical use has been hitherto made of it.

Where Orcas howls, his wolfish mountains rounding; Till all the banded west at once 'gan rise,

A wide wild storm e'en nature's self confounding, With'ring her giant sons with strange uncouth surprise.

This pillar'd earth so firm and wide,

By winds and inward labours torn,
In thunders dread was push'd aside,

And down the should'ring billows born.
And see, like gems, her laughing train,

The little isles on ev'ry side,

Mona,* once hid from those who search the main,
Where thousand elfin shapes abide,
And Wight who checks the west'ring tide,
For thee consenting Heav'n has each bestow'd,
A fair attendant on her søv'reign pride:

To thee this blest divorce she ow'd,

For thou hast made her vales thy lov'd, thy last abode !


Then too, 'tis said, an hoary pile, 'Midst the green navel of our isle,

There is a tradition in the Isle of Man, that a mermaid becoming enamoured of a young man of extraordinary beauty, took an opportunity of meeting him one day as he walked on the shore, and opened her passion to him, but was received with a coldness, occasioned by his horror and surprise at her appearance. This, however, was so misconstrued by the sea lady, that in revenge for his treatment of her, she punished the whole island, by covering it with a mist; so that all who attempted to carry on any commerce with it, either never arrived at it, but wandered up and down the sea, or were on a sudden wrecked upon its cliffs.


Thy shrine in some religious wood,
O soul-enforcing goddess, stood!
There oft the painted native's feet
Were wont thy form celestial meet:
Though now with hopeless toil we trace
'I'ime's backward rolls, to find its place;
Whether the fiery-tressed Dane,

Or Roman's self o'erturn'd the fane,
Or in what heaven-left age it fell,
"I'were hard for modern song to tell.
Yet still, if Truth those beams infuse,
Which guide at once, and charm the Muse,
Beyond yon braided clouds that lie,
Paving the light-embroider'd sky,
Amidst the bright pavilion'd plains,
The beauteous model still remains.
There, happier than in islands blest,
Or bow'rs by spring or Hebe drest,
The chiefs who fill our Albion's story,
In warlike weeds, retir'd in glory,
Hear their consorted Druids sing
Their triumphs to th' immortal string.
How may the Poet now unfold
What never tongue or numbers told?
How learn delighted, and amaz'd,
What hands unknown that fabric rais'd?
E'en now before his favour'd eyes,
In gothic pride, it seems to rise!
Yet Græcia's graceful orders join,
Majestic through the mix'd design;
The secret builder knew to choose
Each sphere-found gem of richest hues :
Whate'er heav'n's purer mould contains,
When nearer suns emblaze its veins;
There on the walls the patriot's sight
May ever hang with fresh delight,

« 上一页继续 »